


All the Colors Mix Together

by treefrogie84



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 13:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18142604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: Dean’s fingers trail along the strands of beads, cool drops of glass and metal in every color under the sun running between his fingertips, not quite glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights of the box craft store.





	All the Colors Mix Together

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from, nor do I have any certainty that it's any good. I'm publishing it anyway.

Dean’s fingers trail along the strands of beads, cool drops of glass and metal in every color under the sun running between his fingertips, not quite glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights of the box craft store. The wall shines…

Shaking his head, Dean shoves his hand back into his pocket before turning on his heel and heading back to the main aisle. Sam’s around here somewhere-- looking for stuff to make curse boxes with-- with Cas, and he doesn’t want to have to explain why he’s wandered off on his own.

Bits of glass on fishing line shouldn’t make him this soft.

A short woman, kinda dumpy-- although he knows better than to say that to her face-- stops him when he comes around the corner. “Couldn’t find what you were looking for?” she asks in a soft lilt, nodding her head back towards the beading section.

Something about her seems… off, fuzzy around the edges, but this wouldn’t be the first time they’ve accidentally stumbled across something non-human just trying to live their life. “Nah,” he responds. “Wandering, killing time.”

“Now, that’s a shame, Dean,” she says. “It wouldn’t hurt you to have some beauty in your life.”

His gun’s in his hand before he can process what she said, ignoring the cameras this place is sure to have. “How the fuck do you know my name?” he asks flatly, thumb ready to flip the safety off.

She disappears in the space of a blink, leaving him standing the the middle of a craft store with his gun out. “Even first born can only see us if we want them to.”

Dean spins around, trying to find her again, but whatever she is, she’s invisible. “What the fuck does that mean?” he demands.

“Dean?” Cas calls from the yarn section a few aisles over. “Is everything alright?”

Dean looks around wildly for a moment, waiting for whatever in the fuck to reappear, before shoving his gun back in his pants. There’s no sign of her, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing… “Yeah. It’s fine,” he answers gruffly. “Whatcha got there?”

Cas beams, holding up a ball of yarn and some needles. “I’m going to teach myself how to knit.”

Dean grins at Cas’s glee before reaching over and petting the yarn. It’s not the softest thing he’s ever felt, but it’s still nice. Softer than he was expecting. “Gonna outfit us all in matching hats and scarves, Cas?” Something about the colors seems familiar, but he can’t place it right now. Nothing harmful anyway.

He shrugs, looking down at the balls in his arms. “I don’t know about matching, but yes. I’m tired of being cold and I suspect you are as well.”

Dean shrugs, glancing around one last time before deciding that whatever he saw was either benign or his imagination. “Here, I’ll carry some of these.” Reaching for a couple of the yarns, his hand brushes Cas’s.

“What have you done?” Cas demands, dropping the yarn and needles, and grabbing Dean’s hand. “Why are you covered in fairy dust?”

“I’m what? Goddamnit!” Pushing the yarn back to Cas, Dean pulls his gun and starts rushing through the main aisle. “Get out here! What the hell do you think you’re playing at? Dusting me? I ain't going back, you hear me?”

“Dean,” comes quietly behind him, cutting off his rant. “I mean you no harm.”

Spinning around, he finds the dumpy woman standing in the center of the fake flowers, hands held out to the side. “Bullshit,” Dean spits.

She looks at him with pity in her eyes, almost enough to make him shoot her on principle. “Beauty for beauty’s sake. That’s the greater treasure.”

“And you think I’m going to find that by picking up some freakin’ beads? I’ve got news for you--”

“Do you take joy in being obtuse?” she asks sharply. “You deny yourself beauty and easy treasures, then are confused when they don’t show up in your life.”

“There’s not a lot of pretty in hunting, sister.”

“Dean,” Cas touches his arm carefully. “What--”

“You can’t see her?” Dean huffs. “Of course you can’t.”

“The leprechaun in the flowers? I can see her. She’s not particularly subtle.” He sets the basket he’d picked up at some point aside, and steps in front of Dean. “How can we help you, old one?”

“Finally! Someone with some manners. I don’t need anything, but his poverty is screaming to anyone who knows how to listen. _Fix it._ ” She frowns before turning and disappearing into the store.

Cas sighs beside him, reaching down to snag his basket. “Put your gun away, Dean. She’s not going to harm you.”

“What is going on?” Dean demands.

“You need more beauty in your life. Or to avoid this craft store for possibly the rest of eternity. Your choice.”

“What?” His heartbeat thunders in his ears, he must have misheard Cas. “How’s it any of her fucking business anyway?”

Cas stares at him, pity and concern and something else all mixed up. “She inhabits a craft store, Dean. Arts and crafts are her business.”

Dean grumbles something under his breath, reaching over and snags Cas’s basket and marches back to the bead section. He grabs a string of beads at more or less random (blue beads with angel wings… it’s not random at all), throws them on top of the yarn. “Do you need needles for this?” he asks Cas gruffly.

“I already--”

Dean cuts him off. “Awesome. We’re leaving.”

 

* * *

 

He avoids the craft store, learns to watch TV with Cas’s elbow digging into his side as he knits. The beads get wrapped around his toiletries bag, somehow managing to sparkle in even the dimmest motel bathroom. It… helps, on the bad days, when nothing else does.


End file.
